


In Repair

by GraduateGraduate



Series: Worlds Collide [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate
Summary: A Sequel to Lost and Found.Steve’s found Bucky, but he’s not entirely his old self.  They turn to Natasha and Clint to help Bucky work through his trauma.  Bucky has a long road through recovery ahead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> So this fic has been in my drafts folder since at least 2015. I don’t usually begin posting fics I haven’t drafted in their entirety, but I’m hoping that if I start posting the chapters I have, I’ll be more motivated to finish writing more chapters.
> 
> I currently don’t have a beta reader, it’s just me trying my best.
> 
> Hope you guys like whatever this turns into.
> 
> Love,  
> GG

Bucky watches the world go past as he sits in the passenger seat of Steve’s truck. The buildings are all taller and shinier than they should be, the people waiting at the bus stop are all staring at these little handheld objects he’s not familiar with, and the dames are presenting themselves far differently than he’s used to, their hair and wardrobe a far cry from the immaculate styles of the ‘40s.

He feels like he’s seeing everything for the first time, but he also swears he’s seen it all before. Like when you see a photo so many times you think you remember the moment just before it was taken. Like he’d been told about these things enough that he’d formed distorted memories of them, or he’d had a dream about them once. The images are there, but the memories don’t quite belong to him.

Steve keeps looking over at him, like he has a question on his lips, but he never gives voice to it. Just glances over, and then back to the road. Bucky avoids his gaze. He wants the silence. He wants to just let everything wash over him. He tries to pretend it’s all brand new. Tries to ignore the distant feelings, the half-formed memories in the back corners of his brain that come up as the city passes by. He doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to process.

They pull up to a thin townhouse. Steve kills the engine.

Steve turns towards him. “This is Clint’s place.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window towards the building.

“You’re going to meet Clint and Natasha here,” Steve continues softly.

Natasha was the other one then. The one Steve had talked to on the phone. The one who wouldn’t have him at her place. Steve had spoken in hushed whispers in a separate room, but Bucky had still heard Steve spit out, _“Fine. We’ll meet at Clint’s if it’s such a big deal to you.”_

“They’re my friends. They’re going to help, okay? You’re going to be safe here.”

Bucky doesn’t like how Steve’s talking to him. Steve’s never used this soft tone with him before. Steve’s handling him with kid gloves and he hates it. But he keeps his mouth shut. He clenches his jaw and trades his crumpled slouch for a firmer, taller, broad-shouldered seat, his eyebrows setting in defiance as his left arm whirs, the metal plates settling into the new position.

He keeps his eyes focused out the window, refusing to look down at the foreign piece of machinery attached to him. Refusing to acknowledge how strange it still is. The way it feels and responds to the world around him nearly the same way a normal arm would. He’s gotten used to it though; now only the constant whirring and clicking of metal plates sliding past each other when he moves it gives him any indication that it isn’t actually the arm he was born with.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts when Steve closes his door. Bucky follows him out of the truck, slamming his behind him, harder than necessary judging by how Steve flinches slightly. He hunches his shoulders a bit, making himself smaller again as he follows Steve up the walk.

The door opens and he’s ushered inside. Bucky takes a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, scanning the street before he follows Steve in.

He’s introduced to Clint, the one who opened the door, and Natasha, the red-head who stands behind him. Clint offers his hand. Bucky ignores it and continues to size them up. Natasha doesn’t look like she was going to go for a handshake even if Bucky had taken Clint up on his. She stands straight and with her chin poised high. She doesn’t look like she needs Clint’s protection, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s standing with Clint between them like a human shield. Bucky scents the air but can’t smell anything beyond the remnants of Steve’s spices. Steve’s stressed. But there’s nothing else in the air. Clint and Natasha must be betas. Natasha doesn’t look the part, but he can’t smell alpha on her at all.

Bucky lets his eyes flit around the townhouse as he’s led through to the kitchen. He can’t help but to seek out the blindspots in the place. He could stand right there, just half a step behind the staircase, lean out 45 degrees and have a clear shot of someone at the top of the railing. With a 12 degree pivot he’d also have a shot at the front door, and just a half step to the side would put him under the stairs and out of harms way from every side but the one he stepped from. It was the best spot in the house.

Mugs of coffee are passed around. Bucky sits motionless at the table staring at his mug while Steve recounts how Bucky had shown up in his motel room. Steve glazes over the more intimate details between Bucky’s initial arrival and departure, and then skips to when Bucky resurfaced. Bucky wants to disappear when Steve tells them about how he’d begged Steve to do anything necessary to keep him from going back to Hydra. Steve doesn’t describe it as begging. He has this concise, emotionless way of stating it as a fact without adding any extra colour to it. But Bucky remembers the tears that were building when he was asking, _begging_ , Steve. He barely breathes, waiting for the memory to pass.

Bucky doesn’t touch his coffee. It’ll keep him up, and he doesn’t need any extra factors conspiring to keep him from sleeping. He has the noise in his head and the images on the backs of his eyelids for that.

Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s been staring into his coffee when Steve finally addresses him.

“Bed, Buck?”

He let’s his eyes flit to Steve’s before darting away again. He barely nods, but after saying goodnight to the others, Steve is showing him to a bedroom with an en suite. Steve pulls a new toothbrush from under the bathroom sink and points out the toothpaste in the medicine cabinet. He’s offered a spare change of clothes for the morning and a shirt and pair of boxers to sleep in.

“They’re mine but Clint washed them while I was out,” Steve assures him.

Bucky holds Steve’s gaze for the first time all day. The way Steve is briefing him for bed, it doesn’t sound like he’s planning to sleep in here.

“I’ll be out on the couch if you need me.” Steve pauses and runs a hand through his hair, scanning the room as if he’s forgotten something.

Bucky takes him in, really looks at him. Steve’s familiar, comfortable. His scent and his body language is familiar, but something about him is off. It might be the pain he’s failing to hide in his blue eyes, but it feels like something _bigger_ than that.

Bucky stops searching for the difference. A lot of time has passed. _Everything_ is different. He grunts out a “Night,” to Steve’s back as Steve leaves the room. Steve hesitates, but doesn’t turn back. Just closes the door gently behind him.

Bucky leaves the toothbrush in its wrapper, changes into Steve’s boxers and shirt, and lies down on top of the duvet. He stares straight up at the ceiling.

 _James Buchanan Barnes. I am James Buchanan Barnes._ He repeats his own name to himself. Part of it a reminder, part of it a way to avoid thinking about anything else right before sleep. _32557038\. No. James. Buchanan. Barnes._

He’s cold. He’s lying in the snow. More continues to fall from above, making the same journey down as he’d just completed, the world grey all around him. He looks to his left. The world isn’t grey all around him. There’s a streak of red. He clamps his eyes shut, bites his lip until he can taste blood before he opens his eyes, preparing to look down at his arm.

Bucky knows what he’ll see if he looks down. He doesn’t want to look down.

_32557038\. Wake up, 32557038._

Bucky wakes with a jolt. He clenches and relaxes his jaw a few times before looking down at his left arm. It’s shiny, unyielding metal, but it’s there.

_James Buchanan Barnes. 32557038. James Buchanan Barnes. I don’t want to go back there. 32557038. Steve. Steve._

Bucky rolls off the bed and pads down the hall in the dark. He finds Steve sprawled on his side on the couch, one arm under a pillow, the other behind his head; a peaceful calm on his face. Bucky squeezes himself into the very small space left on the couch, plastering himself against Steve’s chest, intertwining his legs in Steve’s. A tiny flicker of a smile teases at Steve’s mouth and Steve whispers a soft “Hey, Buck,” from his sleep, and brings the arm from behind his head to pull Buck in close.

Bucky breathes Steve in and let’s out a ragged exhale as he lets sleep take him. They can’t get to him here. In Steve’s arms he is safe.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve wakes up to find Bucky glued to his torso, their legs a tangle, his hand carding through Bucky’s thick hair. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind Steve’s hand in his hair, so he keeps gently running his fingers through it.

Clint has left two mugs of coffee on the end table next to the couch, one with cream and sugar already mixed in, one black. Bless that man. Steve sips his, still caressing Bucky’s hair. This is the most content he’s been in a long time, and he savours the moment.

Steve has finished his coffee by the time Bucky stirs, his body stiffening as he takes in his surroundings.

“Shhh, Buck, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” Steve whispers, stilling his hand in Buck’s hair. “Is this alright?” Steve wiggles his fingers gently against Bucky’s scalp in question.

Bucky’s whole body relaxes into him in one motion. He’ll take that as a yes. He resumes stroking Bucky’s hair.

“Clint brought you some coffee. He didn’t know how you take it,” Steve hands him the mug of black coffee and signals at the cream and sugar sitting nearby. Bucky sits up to accept the mug. He ignores the tray of sweetener and takes a small sip from his mug.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers into his coffee.

A huge smile washes across Steve’s face. “It’s good to hear you talking again.” He ruffles Bucky’s hair. “I really don’t want to cross any lines, so I’m always going to ask if something’s okay for me to be doing, alright?” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve thinks he sees his head twitch in a curt nod, but he could also just be staring into his coffee.

“You’re allowed to ask for what you need, too. Okay?”

That gets Steve some more silence.

“Alright,” Steve sighs. “Good talk. Let’s make you some breakfast. Clint and Nat have eaten already.”

  
***

By the time Steve’s served sunny-side up eggs placed over homestyle hashbrowns just the way Bucky loved them before he was drafted, Nat and Clint have joined them at the table to talk gameplan.

Bucky digs in. Steve turns to Nat as he breaks an egg over his potatoes.

“So what’s the next step?”

Nat’s got a watchful eye on Buck, but her tone is light. “Tony has sent us a list of known bunkers. He and Bruce have worked out an algorithm that’s been flushing them out for us. There’s probably more still, but it’s a starting point.” She flicks her eyes from Steve’s to look at Bucky and back again.

Steve sees her _should we really be discussing this in front of him_ look. He shoots her back a warning glare. The last thing he wants to do is talk about Bucky like he’s not even there.

Clint speaks before Steve can. “What do you guys have planned for the day? Maria sent over a general medical history form she’d like back this afternoon, if you’re feeling up to that when you’re done eating, Barnes?”

Bucky brings his gaze up to meet Clint’s and that appears to be a yes.

Once they’re done eating, Clint takes Bucky out to the living room where Steve is sure from how the very one-sided conversation is going ( _very_  one-sided) that Clint is mostly buying him and Natasha space, and isn’t actually pressing Bucky for any responses.

“So where are these bunkers?” Steve asks.

Natasha raises one eyebrow, her usual smirk absent. “You know he hated that breakfast, don’t you?”

“What?” Steve’s taken aback. Everytime he’d looked over at Buck, Buck had given him a small smile. “That was his favorite breakfast.”

“It might have been _back in the day_ , but it certainly isn’t now. He was having a hard time dealing with the eggs.”

Steve’s fuse is getting short. “What do you even care how he likes his eggs? You didn’t want to be helping him in the first place!”

She let’s out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t say _that_ , Steve. I just think we should be keeping a closer eye on him until we know how stable he is. And what all he’s been through.” She tosses a thick file on the table. “I got my hands on this last week. There are still some gaps in time and procedures, but it’s pretty comprehensive.”

Steve picks up the file. He can’t read the Russian on the front. The pages inside are a mixture of languages. He flips through it, pausing to look at photos and skim over passages of text in English. He can’t look away from the picture of Bucky in cryo, his face frozen in shock, like he didn’t quite understand what was happening to him. And it was a recent enough photo that he had obviously been in and out of deep freeze a number of times by then. It makes Steve’s stomach roil and his whole body gets hot until he thinks he might puke.

As he flips a few more pages, a picture of him and Bucky standing together during the war falls to the floor. Steve stares at it for a moment before picking it up. His blood runs cold.

“They knew.”

Nat’s voice is kind, “If they didn’t know who he was when they first got their hands on him, they definitely did after you rescued the 107th.”

“They’re going to pay,” Steve growls. “I won’t stop until all of Hydra is captured or dead.”

“I know you won’t.” The smile Nat offers is warm and knowing. “But first thing’s first. We have a previous Hydra operative in our home. A fairly silent, unpredictable previous Hydra operative, I might add. Hill did send over some evaluations for us to get started on.”

“He’s not Hydra, Nat!” Steve’s scent flares with his temper.

“I know he was brainwashed, Steve. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s unpredictable. You know Hill and I are in agreeance here that the best course of action would be to take him in to be properly evaluated by SHIELD. It was Clint who talked me into giving the at-home evaluation a chance. We think you’re likely the only person he’ll speak to for a while. It might be less stressful on everyone to start the process here.”

Steve calms himself. “Thank you, Nat.”

“Don’t thank me, Steve, thank Clint. And the _moment_ shit starts going sideways I’m calling in backup.”

“Alright. Where do I start?”

“The forms are here,” Nat drops another stack of papers on the table.

“Which one does Clint have?”

Nat smirks. “The rules for go fish. In English and Russian.” She pulls a couple of sheets from the stack. “This one’s a general history. Just fill in what you can. Note which things are his memories and which are yours. And this is probably the most important one. This is his exercise regimen. To blow off steam as much as it is to assess his abilities.”

“Got it.”

“And for God’s sake, Steve. Find out how he likes his eggs.”

***

Steve brings the paperwork with him to the living room and watches Clint and Bucky play a couple rounds of Go Fish in silence. They place the card they’re asking for face up on the table. If the other has it, they toss it across the table. If not, they gently tap the pile of cards in the centre.

Steve starts leafing through the paperwork from Maria. There’s no way he’s going to get these back to her in the requested time frame. He doesn’t know how he’s going to bring some of these things up with Bucky. If Bucky won’t even tell him how he prefers his eggs, how is Steve going to get him to talk about the medical procedures they put him through? Or what his chain of command was like?

Steve sighs and tosses the pile of paperwork aside. Nat’s right. He should start with the eggs. And he’ll start there tomorrow. He silently joins the table and taps the deck asking Clint to deal him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the handful of people who read/looked at this fic last night :) And to the palm-ful of people who subscribed and left kudos. You inspired me to edit this chapter for posting before work this morning.
> 
> All my love,  
> GG


	3. Chapter 3

“What do you mean he hasn’t started the paperwork yet?” Hill sounds like she’s _this_ close to coming over to the house to start registering James Buchanan Barnes herself.

“They’ve been working on more important things,” Nat explains. She still isn’t thrilled to have an unpredictable, well-trained assassin in the house, but the well-trained assassin _has_ been behaving himself.

“There’s nothing more important than documenting Barnes’ experiences with Hydra and finding out where we’re starting from in his recovery. Has Steve at least gone through the PTSD diagnosis forms with him?”

Nat laughs. “He doesn’t have to. _Of course_ Barnes has PTSD. Are you kidding?”

Hill huffs, “Fine. Well you guys better at least be running him.”

“We are,” Nat assures her. “Tony dropped off one of his treadmills. It’s tracking all his vitals and recording his progress on it. Steve’s teaching him a more efficient gait and foot-strike. I thought he was going to put his foot straight through the thing the first time we got him on it. He didn’t run so much as stomp-march.”

“Good. Add in time with a punching bag in a week or so. But absolutely no sparring until you guys have completed the paperwork.”

“We’re not moving on to anything else until he can jog in a manner that isn’t going to put him on the hip replacement list within six months.”

Nat had seen the training that resulted in his movement-style before. The Black Widows had been trained to be invisible, weightless, nimble, but the Wolf Spiders had been trained to be the opposite. Big, visibly intimidating, calculated, heavy-footed. They were forced to jump from increasingly high heights on to cement floors to condition their bones. Any sign of pain was punished with brutal beatings. The ones that graduated could jump from heights of at least twelve feet, land with barely a bend in their knees, and move straight into combat while maintaining an expressionless face. They weren’t fast, but they didn’t need to be. That’s not what they were for.

She didn’t know how much time Barnes had spent at the Red Room, but she’d bet her life he’d trained there.

After hanging up the call with Hill, she joins the boys for breakfast. Steve had put on a grand breakfast last week, presenting every possible variant of a cooked egg to Bucky. Somewhere between the eggs benedict and the selection of soft, medium, and hard poached eggs, Barnes had finally signaled that his current preference was plain scrambled and Nat had called a cease fire before Steve whipped up three flavors of quiche.

Since then Barnes had taken to stealing sips of Steve’s coffee when he wasn’t looking, and drinking from his own mug of black coffee when Steve was. He’s sneaking a sip as Nat enters the kitchen.

“You know what, Barnes,” Nat grabs both mugs of coffee and dumps them down the drain as Steve shouts in protest. “I’m not playing Steve’s game and bringing you a mildly differently accessorized coffee until we find which ratio of cream and sugar you like in yours. Steve’s is a ridiculous five sugars and a good long dose of cream. You watching?” She pours fresh coffee into the mug, tosses the five sugar cubes in, gives a quick stir, and then adds a three second stream of cream into the coffee, which mixes itself through with the help of the remaining vortex. She hands the mug to Steve and gives him a stern _hold on to that one_ look. She pours another fresh mug of coffee and places it in front of Bucky, followed by the sugar bowl and carton of cream. “You want it sweeter than that, that’s your starting point. Otherwise, figure it out. You can pour that out and start again if you need to. Just figure it out.”

She pours herself a mug of what’s remaining in the pot and sets a new batch to brew. She grabs a piece of buttered toast off the pile in the centre of the table, and folds herself into a chair to enjoy her breakfast while she watches Barnes muddle with the cream and sugar.

Steve’s giving her stink eye, which she returns with a smirk and an eyebrow raise that says _I don’t do kid gloves, you’re being ridiculous; this is going to work, you’ll see._

Bucky starts by pouring a splash of cream into his coffee, sips it, adds a second dollop, sips it, tosses in a sugar cube which sloshes a little coffee over the edge of the mug, sips it. He adds a second sugar cube, gives the whole thing a stir, and sips. He pushes himself up from the table in one mechanical motion, pours the mug down the drain, rinses the mug, and starts over with fresh coffee. He adds two splashes of cream, sips, and satisfied, reclines in his chair cradling his mug from Natasha like he’s worried she’s going to snap it out of his hands again.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Nat’s _told you so_ smirk plays on the corner of her lips. “Your preferences matter in this house.” She leans forward, softens her voice, “They didn’t where you were before, did they?”

He responds with a small shake of his head.

“What was that?” Nat leans back again, “I couldn’t hear you.”

He glares at her in a way he hasn’t since he first measured her up upon arrival. She’s not actually sure he’ll answer, but she holds his gaze, doesn’t blink. For the first time since he’s arrived, she lets her scent of orange blossom and vodka overpower her mask of cold steel.

She wins the staring contest. He blinks twice, surprise and confusion briefly visible on his face.

“No,” he states in a low growl.

“They matter here,” her voice is soft and warm, but still authoritative. “You want something, you ask for it. Okay?”

“Okay.” No moment of hesitation, but Bucky’s voice is small. Like he doesn’t quite believe her.

Still, it’s a step in the right direction.

She takes a smug bite of her toast, basking in the disbelief on Steve’s face at the exchange he just witnessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve just finished drafting _Lies Only Grow_. It’s a short Nat-centred piece that focuses on her time in the Red Room and how her and Bucky’s time there overlaps. It’ll probably make an appearance in _In Repair_ , so think of it as a peek preview of things to come.
> 
> I’ll be finishing editing and posting chapters to _Lies_ in the coming few days.


End file.
